


The Doc I Knew

by Chick4Chick2



Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chick4Chick2/pseuds/Chick4Chick2
Summary: Eighteen years old and jaded, Liza Turner feared a whore was all she'd ever be...until she met John.





	The Doc I Knew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mynameisnoneya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/gifts).



> This fic was written for my bestie. To anyone else reading, I hope you enjoy :)

 

He wasn’t everything they said of him.

He was less and he was also more.

Had he killed all the men they claimed he’d killed?

No.

Had he killed some that none knew of?

Maybe.

Had he ever truly been in love?

Liza didn’t know.

But she knows John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday probably saved her life and that is something at least.

 

Liza Turner had known a gentler life once upon a time back East. But that was before her parents’ untimely deaths and hard times had forced her to find work in order to help support her younger siblings.

At fifteen, her uncle had sent her off to a poultry farm. It had been unsavory work and paid very little. The farmer had a roving eye and the farmer’s wife was quick to take out her temper with her fists. Liza had wanted to strike her back but were would she go?

Temptation had come along in the form of a smooth-talking man. He’d shamed her…at least that’s what the farmer’s wife had said before they'd cast her out. So, Liza had turned to less savory work. It paid more at least.

Earning her keep on her back wasn’t something she’d write to her family about. She merely told them she was well and sent home whatever she could.

But Liza was pretty and educated. One of the older women took her under her wing and set her up in a more reputable establishment. Well, it was reputable as whore houses went.

In time, she’d made her way farther West. She used the excuse of distance and bigger opportunities for the infrequency of her letters home. She prayed the children were well enough without their big sister. She still sent them what she could of her earnings. She also sent them her love…what this life had left her of it anyway.

At eighteen, she’d made her way to The Honey Pot. It was the fanciest saloon she’d ever laid eyes on. When she’d come to Dodge City, she’d hoped to find a place in such an establishment. But not long after she’d settled there, she’d discovered it was really no different that the first knocking shop she’d worked at three years ago. This was her life though. And how long of a life would it be?  Whores didn't earn much as they aged.  And their profession carried plenty of hazards with it.

Eighteen years old and with very little money to her name, how could she make it back East? How could she ever go back home again after what all she’d done?

Fate would answer that for her in the form of a dentist-turned-gambler who was making a name for himself. Not that she knew all his story then.

She was working the door, greeting the patrons in her emerald green dress, the night he first entered The Honey Pot. Mother May had suggested she dye her hair red to catch more flies and she’d done so. Her scalp was still stinging from the dye but everyone had admired her auburn locks.

A finely dressed gentleman, he was tall and slender. His pallor hinted at consumption but he looked fit enough otherwise. He was making a study of her as she greeted the town’s mayor and she flashed him a smile. He was admiring her, she was certain.

After the mayor had moved on, she sauntered up to the stranger and asked if he wanted a drink. His greenish-blue eyes swept over her face but kept returning to her hair. Mother May had been right. Gents did love a red-head.

“A drink would be lovely, darlin’,” he said in a soft Southern tang. Liza grinned knowingly at him. Her first customer of the night would be a gentleman and hopefully generous. “But that hair dye is atrocious. Who did that to you?”

Liza’s mouth fell open. Everyone had raved about her red hair. And how did the rascal know it was dyed? “That is…unchivalrous, sir,” she stammered. “Wherever did you learn your courtesies?” Shoot. She sounded like a ninny. Saloon girls hardly cared about silly notions like chivalry and courtesy.

“Well, I apologize if I have offended you…with my honesty,” he smirked. “What color is it naturally?”

Her cheeks grew hot, something that she could not recall happening in the presence of a customer for a long while. “When it’s not red, it might be brown, sir,” she said as coolly as she could manage.

His smirk became a smile as he looked her over once more. It was a rather fetching smile. “A lovely Chestnut brown, right?” She nodded. She’d not thought of it that way but she supposed it was. “I should like to see it someday. Waves of lovely chestnut brown hair cascading down your back, Miss...”

“Liza, Liza Turner.”

“Miss Turner.” He captured her hand and pressed a swift kiss to the back of it. His lips were chapped but soft. “Enchanté, Miss Turner.” He seemed to consider her further. “A lovely, blue dress to match your eyes. Something demurer than what you’re wearing tonight. You’d be a lovely image sitting on a front porch with a glass of lemonade.”

“You make me sound like a grand lady,” she scoffed.

“To thine own self be true, darlin’. I can see it. Why can’t you?”

She stared at him like a goose as he dropped her hand and made his way to the poker game Pete’s cousin Ike was running.

 _‘Running the place into the ground more like,’_ she’d heard Pete bemoaning. Ike was awful at cards.

It wasn’t long till a miner came up with his month’s wages. He tipped his cap, gave her a boorish wink and held out the crumpled bills. She sighed inwardly and plastered on a friendly smile for him as she led him towards the stairs which would take them to her room.

 _You’re just a whore, Liza. That’s all you’ll ever be_.

But as they passed the poker table, she risked a glance at the gambler. A prodigious amount of money was sitting in front of him now and Ike was sweating bullets.

His eyes were never still as he looked at his cards and observed his companions with an inscrutable expression. But, he lifted his eyes to hers just for an instant. The power of his gaze was undeniable and Liza felt drawn to him in a way she’d not felt for a man in a very long time. She was trembling as she climbed the stair.

And as the miner huffed and puffed atop her a few minutes later, she closed her eyes. It was not the miner’s face she imagined.

 

* * *

 

 

“What are you reading, Doc?” she asked a few weeks later.

It was slow that night, the thunderstorm raging outside had kept most of the men away.

The poker game had become Mr. Holliday’s to run. Ike had tried to fight for his place but one twirl of Doc’s pistol had Ike running for the door. Ostensibly a dentist, he claimed teeth-drawing was tedious work and he enjoyed cards more. He was making money hand over fist for Pete and himself and no one was complaining about that.

“Mr. Carroll’s tale of Alice and her adventures, darlin’. Ever read it?” he responded, his Southern accent smooth like brandy to her ears.

“I read it to my little brother once. It seemed like a lot of nonsense but he liked it.”

“Oh, it is nonsense but fascinating nonsense. I wonder how much opium one would have to consume before deciding to use flamingo’s as croquet mallets.”

Liza laughed and nodded before asking Pete for a whiskey for them both. She could sit here and pass some time with Doc without fear of Mother May tonight.

She had learned a good deal about him since they’d first met. He was not interested in paying for her companionship the way other men would but he was always willing to talk with her. She valued their talks. She was also afraid to tell him that she would’ve offered her companionship freely when it came to him. That would be foolish to say aloud.

Some nights, he’d play the piano when the game was slow. That was the best thing and also the worst. His fingers moving proficiently over the keys reminded Liza of the parlor back at home and her mother teaching her to play as a girl. She could play but no one here had ever asked her. And there was something about the memory of playing with her mother that she wanted to remain unsullied by this place.

But she did enjoy listening to Doc play. She always resented any customers that came along to take her upstairs when Doc was playing.

Discussing literature was another activity she enjoyed with him. He was well-read and seemed to find much pleasure in the fact that she was well-read, too. Most of the girls here could barely read a word or two. But Liza knew better than to boast of such things. It would only lead to blows and curses.

They shared their whiskey and their musings over Wonderland. The hours flew past. Liza did not earn any money that night but she felt she had gained all the same.

“What led you here, Miss Turner?” he asked.  She knew he didn't just mean Dodge City.

“A sadder tale than I’ll burden you with tonight.”

“Is there any happy to it?”

“There was. It was once a happy home my brothers and sister and I knew when Mama and Papa were alive.”

“What of your siblings?”

“They’re young. They are staying with my aunt.”

“You can’t be more than 20."

"I am eighteen, sir."

"Why aren’t you staying with your aunt?”

“My aunt’s husband…he suggested I find work to help them with the expense of keeping the children.”

“This line of work?”

“No. He was a God-fearing man. He would not allow me in his house as I am now. He had a friend that found me work at a poultry farm.”

Doc scowled and took another sip of his drink. He choked and started to cough. Liza went to fetch him some water. The handkerchief he held to his mouth was bloody when she returned.

“I thank you for your kindness, Miss Turner," he wheezed, a tired sound.  "Don’t fret,” he said when he saw her concern. “I’m in my prime.”

“Are you now?” she said skeptically.

“I’ll be moving on to a dryer climate soon.”

She could not disguise her disappointment. Gamblers weren’t known to linger in one spot for too long and she was ridiculous to become attached to this one but she was.

“Oh, now…don’t be sad, darlin’. I’m sure you’ll find another man to fill your evenings with Chopin and books.”

“How did you know I preferred Chopin?”

“Your face is an open book to a man like me.”

“You are shrewd,” she conceded, “but also a fool if you think I’ll find many men around here to discuss books and Chopin with.”

“Did I say anything about finding him ‘round here? There’s a family waiting back East. Those little ones need their sister back.”

“I’ve no way home,” she said uncomfortably. She glanced around the saloon and down at her slatternly clothes. “I couldn’t face them.”

“Well…we all have regrets, that is true. But even songs with sad passages sometimes wind up happy in the end.”

He said no more that night and decided to play for a time. Liza sat at the corner table, allowing her head to fall back against the wall as she listened to the nocturn he played. She wasn’t even aware of the tears sliding down her face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Weren’t you even going to say goodbye?”

She was breathless from her run down the street on the hot afternoon. Word had made its way around The Honey Pot that Pete’s gambler was headed on. The train would be leaving in a few hours.

Heedless of how it looked, Liza had torn out of the saloon and down the street to his room at the bordering house. She’d climbed the stair and knocked before she even considered how inappropriate her actions were.

He'd answered the door in his shirtsleeves, his jacket lying over the back of the room’s lone chair. His waist coat was done up. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. The room smelled of whiskey.

“Why, what sort of gentleman would I be if I did not come ‘round to bid you goodbye, Miss Turner? I confess I had planned to finish my packing first.”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me for barging in,” she said as she started to back away.

“No, no…” A hand closed over her wrist. “Your hair,” he said. "It's..."

“Yes.  I’ve been using baking powder and vinegar every morning. One of the girls said it would help.”

It had. It was nearly back to its natural shade.

Something in his eyes shifted and Liza felt emboldened. If this was the last time she would lay eyes upon him, she might as well take the chance. She wanted to have the memory of a happier song. She stepped into his room and closed the door. He did not protest.

“You told me the night we met that you should like to see it, waves of chestnut brown hair cascading down my back.”

She started pulling the pins from her hair. He sat down on the edge of his bed, a mixture of fascination and fear on his face. Liza ran her fingers through her tresses. It had always been thick.

He drew a ragged breath as she came closer. She spun around as though she was merely showing it off. She waited for him to move.

Torturously slow, the minutes ticked by until she felt his hands in her hair. He inhaled it and wrapped a bit around one fist.

Without turning, she unfastened her dress, allowing it to fall to the floor. Her chemise and bloomers and corset and stockings. That was what most men saw when they paid for a night with Liza. There was no need to go to all the trouble of removing it all. But when she felt his hand caressing her elbow, she decided Doc would see more.

“Help me,” she asked, indicating the lacings of her corset.

His fingers moved as deftly as they did across the piano keys. Ladies unmentionables were not unknown to him, she was certain.

When she was bare, she stepped out of the pile of clothing and faced him at last.

“You’re lovely, Liza,” he said, the first time he’d ever uttered her Christian name. “You’re as lovely as song and look as fresh as a summer’s breeze.”

“Thank you, Doc,” she blushed, not certain what to make of such praise. 

“John. Call me John now, darlin’.”

He grasped her by the waist and kissed her fiercely before working his way down her throat and between her breasts. That sensual heat she’d felt the night she’d first met him intensified. She groaned as he began suckling at her breasts.

He pulled her down on the bed. She helped divest him of his waist coat, britches and shirt.

Both bare at last, he rolled on top of her as they kissed again. Her hips bucked beneath him, wanting more than anything for him to sink deep inside and fill her.

“May I?” he asked, dipping his chin down towards her body and indicating what he wanted.

“You may,” she answered, stunned that he would offer. No man had pleased her thusly in so very long.

She gazed down at his sandy blonde hair as he slid down the bed. She tensed slightly as he softly kissed her belly and thighs with holy reverence.

_Amen, amen._

She relaxed and her legs fell open. When his lips brushed her sex, she shuddered with desire. He flicked his tongue teasingly against her nub and she growled out a muffled curse of need. She was wet and writhing, willing him to finish her. He obliged by ravishing her with his mouth and fingers; licking, sucking and fingering her until she quaked and trembled while crying out his name.

Liza floated in a gauzy bliss, her fingers lightly traced her nipples that had pebbled with her climax. John rose from between her thighs, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He wiped at his sopping wet chin and moustache. He kissed her mouth to let her taste herself. He stifled a moan when her tongue darted out and licked his lips clean.

“How was that, darlin’?” he asked as he broke from their kiss.

“Lovely. The loveliest thing I ever knew. I want you inside me now.”

He rolled to his back and grasped her hips, tugging at her to straddle him. “Like this, darlin’.”

Her eyes flashed with appreciation. He was giving her control, letting her lead. Most men took from her. John gave.

The ache inside her grew again. Her peak from earlier had passed and she longed for another. She scooted up his hips slightly, bringing her cunt closer to his hard dick. She slid the head across her folds and closed her eyes, enjoying the slickness that made it glide across her smoothly, inflaming her desire even more when it made contact with her nub.

She heard his pitiful groan and had mercy on him. Centering him, she sank down over him, taking him in inch by inch. Rocking her hips, she watched his eyes roll back with pleasure. It all felt so good.

She found her rhythm and begged, “Touch me, John.”

He cupped her ass and leaned up to capture a nipple. Liza’s delighted gasps filled the room as the bed began to squeak with every move. She was glad it was his bed. She didn’t want him in the bed she’d shared with other men. This was theirs.

“Please…don’t stop,” she said in a desperate whimper.

“I won’t,” he rasped.

She found that angle that brought her deeper pleasure and dug her knees into the mattress and braced her hands against his chest as she chased her peak. Her eyes darkened and her breathing grew heavier.

“Yes,” she moaned quietly as that delightful pleasure broke over her like a tremendous wave.

“Fuck,” he breathed. His hands gripped her hips harder now and he thrusted more rapidly. “I’d like it harder and faster now, Liza. I do hope you’ll oblige.”

She laughed and nodded, opening herself up to that pleasure once more, slamming down hard on top of him thrice more and losing herself in the sensation. Her peaked crashed over her and she soared. She felt dizzy and she fell. But not a bit of it hurt. It was the most exquisite release.

“Oh, John!” she shouted, beckoning him to his finish.

She called his name and he came. He grunted her name in response before he spilled within her.

She lay atop him, having collapsed at last. Their chests heaved from the exertion. They panted, struggling to catch their breath as they stared at each other, eyes roaming the face of the other.

“That was…something else,” he said at last. “You’re something else, Liza Turner.”

“So are you.”

He began to cough and she helped him sit up. Propped against headboard, he held her to him for a spell. Liza grew sleepy. She felt him caressing her back and carding his fingers through her chestnut brown hair.

“There’s a better life waiting on you back East, Liza,” she heard him murmur before she drifted off.

When she awoke an hour or so later, he was gone but he’d left her a note and $300 dollars. It was more money than she’d ever seen in her entire life.

_‘Go home, Miss Turner. You have a family waiting for you. Write a happier song for yourself.’_

She left The Honey Pot the very next day.

 

Many years later, as a wife and mother with her beloved brothers and sister grown and happy, Liza would sit on her front porch sipping lemonade in favorite blue dress on lazy afternoons. She was a rather grand lady in town.

No one ever need know how Liza Turner had made her fortune out West. When she’d returned home and found work as a governess for a fine family, she’d told her aunt and uncle she’d be coming to take the children in six months. She held true to her word.

And when a man of good breeding had written an advertisement seeking a wife to make a life with him in the Montana, she'd answered and taken her family to meet him.

She was more than some whore. She wrote a happier ending to her tale.

Her son John was a gifted musician. He was named after her husband and his daddy…but he was named after someone else, too. Some afternoons, she’d ask him to play her a nocturn. Her husband would kiss her cheek when she’d grow weepy over the tune. He was a good man. He needn’t know the cause of her tears.

Her life was very full. She wished that Doc’s had been as well.

 


End file.
